


Conflagration

by doppeldonger



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), borderlands 2 - Fandom, borderlands: the pre-sequel
Genre: Character Study, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, general myth nerdery, i played with a lot of mythological figures fml
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 15:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doppeldonger/pseuds/doppeldonger
Summary: Her name is Lilith, and she is the most powerful siren in the universe.





	Conflagration

It starts out with a bus. The barren planes of the lonesome planet she's recently arrived on flying past, she observes the other passengers through a critical gaze: A silent Truxican lean and slick as the sniper rifle he carries on his back, wild like the huge bird perched atop his shoulder. A thick and tall wall of a man, too gentle for his size and loudness, with fists as big as bricks. A soldier so stiff and firm, his skin the color of the dark brown mountains lounging across the horizon.

She knows, without even bothering to catch their amazed gazes, that they're staring; she figures she would, too, if she were just a simple man who saw a powerful Siren for the first time in his life.

 _How wonderful_ , they think, _awe inspiring. Beautiful like a statue emerging from the depths of marble. Fascinating and captivating like a Shahmaran. Dangerously interesting and interestingly dangerous._ To their pondering gaze, she’s nothing but her enticing figure and terrifying powers, an animal behind bars, up for observation. She’s used to it by now, the hunger in people’s eyes; she can see past it into their lustful, greedy thoughts.

Yet, she remains. Despite the feeling of utter irritation, she persists. Nobody knows how lonesome it is, how she has to explore herself all by herself, how there is lack of guidance, lore.

So, she rocks along with the bus, sitting in the seat at the back and still watching the scenery for the sake of ignoring the inquisitive eyes. The dry wind caresses her hair, hiding her eyes behind red locks. She pulls them aside with a flick of her tattooed hand and breathes, deep and slow. She’s here to learn more about herself since no one seems intent on helping her out, maybe earn some money and find valuable loot, then she’ll be on her way, alone once again.

Days stretch into months, and they’re getting close to the fabled Vault, with the capital V because it’s that important and it’s that mythical. The bulky, dark-skinned soldier decides to ease his own solitude with her, and she doesn’t mind; she’s bored, and an occasional fling could work on both of their frayed nerves. The cold desert night reverberates with their pleased moans.

Turns out, there really is a Vault (multiple Vaults!), and this one comes with a disgustingly huge and ugly monster straight out of some long lost mythology. The fight is easy, the loot more than adequate, but she still can’t sate her hunger for knowledge with whatever the Vault has spewed and sputtered on them.

The soldier suggests a trip to Pandora’s moon, Elpis. She laughs, not that she finds his offer funny; she’s simply entertained by the idea of Hope existing so close to Pandora. Life is full of lies and shitty mythological references, she decides, and accepts his offer. Maybe Elpis can offer her the rumors and hope she needs.

Their little vacation is fun, the sex more than adequate, but she finds herself wrapped in ennui instead of the soldier’s sleek ebony arms.

Then there’s another chance to sate her insatiable curiosity, in the form of a gangly nerd of a man going by an everyman’s name, begging for their help as he’s stranded on the space station revolving around the moon revolving around a planet; Helios, the wondrously bright progeny of Hyperion.

She doesn’t mind, despite the ravenous inspection the programmer gives her, despite the feeling of something unholy and unwanted hanging in the air whenever they exist in the same room. She **_does_** mind, but she doesn’t care. She stopped caring long ago, bullied one too many times to find it in her calloused heart to notice the signs.

It’s all fun and games until the bossy programmer decides to throw a bunch of innocent scientists out the airlock right in front of her eyes. She realizes this was never about her self-exploration, that she was just a tool in the programmer’s finely-weaved con; so she decides to play double-agent along with the soldier from then on, working with the programmer’s ex. Her intentions seem no more real than her gracious bosom, but at least she doesn’t seem like a sociopath.

Their plan is simple. Her part in it is not. As she slips through the portal and into the Vault, she’s struck with the feeling of déjà vu; the colors are off, so are the Vault Hunters around her, but the gaze is the same. The loneliness is the same.

The electricity in the air, the gentle hum of the inside of the Vault kisses her hair that is seemingly aflame in the violet hues. She tugs it aside with a flick of her tattooed hand and breathes deep and slow. She struts forward with confidence in her quick steps, going unnoticed by the hysterical man lounging in his stony throne.

She smiles a sultry, pleased smile.

She throws a punch, her fist strong and sturdy.

There blooms a supernova of light and fire; the painful screams of the scarred man are only enjoyable for a short while, as she has to flee. That was the plan, after all. Once again, she’s alone, bereft of any knowledge she deserves to fondle.

She runs. There’s a madman after her and she has nobody to seek help in. She’s used to it by now, the mistrust people have in such a dangerously violent woman like her; she can see past it into their frightened, biased thoughts.

Bandits swarm her, worshipping her like a fearsome god of a forgotten religion. They call her the Firehawk, forming cult after cult after her name and burning themselves to crisp piles of bodies as sacrifice. Nobody knows who she is, but then again, **_she_** doesn’t know who she is, either.

_Who are you?_

_Monster!_

_What a frigid bitch._

_Psycho!_

_How much do you think a night with that tattooed chick would cost?_

_Whore!_

_A Siren? They don’t exist._

When she sheds the dark cloak of her Firehawk persona, it’s a great shock to many; but Ouranos in the golden crown remains calm and cool, never a good sign for a trigger happy tyrant.

He knows, just like she does.

They call her the Firehawk. She calls herself the Phoenix, reborn from her ashes, sacred like the Bennu of the sunny lands, and her comeback is just as grand.

Ouranos tests her patience, hunting after people who were seemingly close to her. She lets flames of fury consume her, only making her stronger; she’s not angry because of the Truxican’s dead bird or the brick wall of a man’s lost town. She was always alone under people’s observant gaze- because of mistrust, because of fear, because of underestimation. She doesn’t care about these people who killed and stole along with her, but she cares about the man trying to steal her spotlight.

Throughout the years, she learned to twist that hungry gaze to her own liking, letting it inflate her ego.

The way he murders the soldier stings a little, if she’s being honest with herself. She guesses the sudden shock that seizes her comes from the shared time she has (had) with him compared to the others.

What a mistake.

Ouranos chains the Phoenix like a wild animal, controlling her powers to his liking. But she’s not afraid, she knows her limits and her abilities. A lifelong solitude has ultimately made her depend only and only on herself; they can push her down, but they can’t keep her subdued.

She plays the Vault Hunters like Ouranos once did, a virtuoso pulling at all the right strings. Despite the chains weighing her down, she struggles, his voracious gaze never once leaving her.

They weaken him, making him run around while throwing weak threats. He summons his very own Cerberus, and it fits the hellish scenery. They slay it, opening the gates of the metaphorical underworld that is the Vault. She watches, this time **_her_** hungry gaze sweeping on others- what a magnificent change.

She scrutinizes him, her curious eyes settling upon the fallen god still screaming bloody murder. As she approaches him, slow as a prowling tiger, the others are watching her watching him.

Just like the first time she confronted him in a Vault in front of a group of Vault Hunters, she faces the man with a sultry smile on her cracked and swollen lips. Her tattooed hand frees her eyes from the curtain of crimson locks draping over them. She pulls back, widening and securing her stance. Ouranos sways on his sneakered feet, fresh blood bubbling from his downturned lips.

She throws a punch, her fist strong and sturdy. He goes down, painful death looking smooth and easy. She looks down on the crumpled body of the fallen god, and she smiles a genuine smile.

_The first woman who is equal to those around her, who became the subject of the hungry gaze, whom people hoped to subjugate. The woman who refused to bow to the imperious, who survived on her own, who was powerful to take on the universe._

Her name is Lilith, and she is the most powerful siren in the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> I simply loved how Lilith had an aloof and arrogant air her in BL1, I guess that's what inspired me to write this fic.


End file.
